john didnt know what to do when he saw dean dote on sammy the way mary had done to dean before she’d died. the way dean always held him, brushed tears off sam’s chubby cheeks, insisted on dressing him up even when john would offer to so dean could sleep some more. he’d hoped it was just a childish fascination, something dean would grow bored of; grow out of.
instead it got worse with age, especially when sam learned to talk and walk. his vocabulary almost only consisting of “dee”’s and basic phrases. making grabby hands in whatever direction dean is in every time dean would have to set him down for even a second. it was a damn near miracle john was able to separate them when it came time for school.
sam was never a crier, just a sniffler. he’d spend hours rubbing the snot off his little nose and chin, his face practically bright pink from the emotions he didnt know how to handle while his fists sat balled up in his lap. sam would just wait, far too patient for a two year old, not even bothering to touch his toys. john tried to fill in when he was there, to fill as much of the six year old’s shoes as he could manage. it didnt do much, sam’s mood only worsening as the week went on.
luckily four seemed to be a turning point, the small child no longer a toddler and able to understand the concept of dean not being able to spend every second of every single day with him. john thought it would’ve gotten better after that, that sam would separate himself from dean some.
john hoped that sam going to kindergarten and meeting other kids could possibly help, too, but by the time sam was five, all he wanted was to be dean. every time he saw the kids, it’d look as if they were trying to crawl into each other’s skin. john would get back from a hunt to see them watching cartoons on the couch, dean holding sammy close with his hands shoved under his baby brother’s shirt while sam’s face was nuzzled against the juncture of dean’s neck. it shocked him more than anything he’d ever seen on a hunt before, anything he’d seen in the army. neither asleep, just quietly breathing in what was practically each other’s air in a position that was too close to be just anything. john walked behind the couch, ruffling dean’s hair to ask if they’d eaten yet. dean had made the two of them something already, and john had left them alone again quickly after to go out to a bar. maybe call bobby.
